June 2016

June 29, 2016

On Monday Noah and I celebrated our 8th wedding anniversary (we were together for 8 years before we got married so it's really been quite some time in my humble opinion). We got take out sushi and ate dinner at 6pm in pajamas. I couldn't have asked for anything more. Each year we write each other a card, and for the past several years we noticed that that card has started with something about how tough the year has been. It made me really think a lot about relationship survival on IF Island and how many of us often have a specific path we envision for our lives once we meet our better half. Many of us connect to our partners and have fantasies about jobs and homes and travels and family, that feel like they can become reality once we've got our partner in crime. We can imagine our children as a mash up of each of our best traits, and we can see the possibility of how it will all unfold. I guess one thing Noah and I have learned that is perhaps one of the most important aspects of relationship survival on the Island is the ability to revise the fantasy as a team based on what reality presents. No easy feat. It's normal to push against what the universe dishes out when you don't like it. It's normal to desperately want to stick to the script (nooooo!!! our baby HAS to have dada's perfect nose!). It's normal to feel...pissed off or sad, and it's normal to feel differently from your sig fig about how to turn the fantasy into a reality that you can each accept. But there also comes a point in time on the infamous "journey to parenthood" where you each kind of have to wipe the slate clean and look at what's in front of you while letting go of what's behind. I think our ability to do that, though I'll admit it was tough at times for sure, really saved our marriage, and for that I'm so grateful.

That was Monday. Tuesday (was that only yesterday?) was kind of intense. Noah got hurt at the gym and after an entire day in the ER he ended up having to get his lip sewn back together. I won't go into details but it was pretty bad and he's pretty banged up. Before I knew the severity of the situation I was like, "seriously?" but then realized this was one of those times we just had to deal with what is and be thankful things weren't worse I suppose.

When big things happen in our lives, whether big things that seem to go on forever or big things that happen in a split second, we have choices in how we deal. It took me a decent amount of time to know how to deal with being stranded on IF Island for years and I don't think I always handled myself that well but I did the best I could. Yesterday as Momo was having an overtired meltdown outside the ER and Noah was being sent to some other department because none of the ER doctors felt comfortable stiching his lip because it was pretty literally hanging apart in three places, I tried my best to be present and not freak out about what might happen or dwell on the frustration Noah and I both felt that this happened. We just teamed up and moved forward together the best we could. We've had a lot of practice in doing that. Another (positive?) unintended consequence of infertility.

June 23, 2016

In the past week, a few people have asked me about when we are, if we are, planning on going back for that second embryo. Remember Momo was one of two embryos donated by a couple-- she was created by the husband of that couple and an egg donor. So there is one more full genetic match in a freezer in Seattle.

So Noah and I are no where near ready to saddle up and try this again. We aren't ready to to be pregnant or to have a newborn, and we aren't ready to find out that our one shot at a genetic sib didn't work. Those are the only two options in the given scenario. But the inquiries I got this past week made me think about contacting the clinic to make sure the embryo is still there. Not that it would have walked away, but...

After we found out the transfer worked, I immediately asked that the clinic hold the sibling embryo for us. I asked if they needed anything and the response was that our name would be on it! Great! But I guess having no contact with the clinic for over a year made me start to worry a bit, so I wrote an email to to donor coordinator today and for some reason getting an email back from her made my anxiety spike. I've spent the better part of today feeling uneasy and I've been trying to figure out why.

I think one of the first things that made my chest suddenly feel tight is that when I asked her how many genetic siblings and half siblings Momo has her response was two genetic siblings. (I know the egg donor had kids too so there are a handful of half sibs too). At the time of our transfer we were told there was one boy. My heart started to race. Did the original couple come back for their embryo? Is it their embryo still? Is it ours? Why does the fact that I didn't know there were two genetic sibs suddenly make me feel so...vulnerable? Excited at the possibility of Momo knowing these people one day? Sad? Confused as to why we didn't know? I looked up the one page of info we have on the sperm provider and under children it says one male child, in good health. So does that mean someone else also used one of their donated embryos? The feeling I had was really strange and I keep coming back to the fact that I don't know what I have the right to know or ask. This whole situation is anonymous. Not my preference, but the way it is. And I've always felt afraid that if I ask too many questions or piss someone off at the clinic that they can deny me my potential child. But I also want to know these things and feel like Momo has the right to know. This is now her story and I feel like it's my obligation or my duty to inform her of her... I don't know the word I'm looking for here, her heritage? Her...background? And the fact that it feels confusing makes me uneasy. I never want Momo to feel confused.

So finding out there are actually two sibs threw me off and so did the clinic saying they now wanted us to pay for storage for the embryos. They never asked for that before but suddenly they are? Perhaps that guarantees our name is on it. But it felt kinda yucky.

And I think the third piece of all of this is maybe a little bit of being thrown back into the trauma of the whole experience. Seeing the fertility clinic in my email header, having a nurse then call me to tell me what I'm required to do (updated blood tests, an x-ray of my uterus, some other fun stuff) for the next transfer. And the thought of gearing up, of doing progesterone shots, of flying to Seattle with Momo in tow-- I think I felt overwhelmed. Perhaps a little sadness. Sometimes it just doesn't feel good when other people, strangers, nurses, coordinators, whoever, are telling you what you are required to do to get "clearance" to try and have a baby. I bet that is really what people who adopt might feel like.

Perhaps a fourth aspect of my day of anxious spinning is seeing my child, knowing my baby and not knowing how she will feel about her very unique origin story. I'm determined to help her feel nothing but proud and special and amazing-- that's how Noah and I feel, but she might have other thoughts and feelings and that's okay. At the end of the day she will know and feel the most important things--that she is loved and she truly is my soulmate. I will have to walk this line with her one day at a time.

For now, I've been working on trying to make a book for her. I've been working on it since she was a 10 week old fetus (I really don't like that word). It's harder than I thought to break it all down in a simplistic and clear way that would be appropriate for a toddler to read, but I'm trying, and I'll get there. And the end will reiterate something Noah always says-- that this baby is so loved and so wanted that other people came together to help her come to be. That's what matters, to us at least. And perhaps how many siblings or where they are or will we ever find them won't ever matter. We will just have to wait and see.

June 14, 2016

We showed the film to some friends and family this past weekend and I've been amazed at how... strange time feels. How can I articulate that better?

I guess it's kind of like when you're in something bad it feels all consuming. You drown in it and can't see straight. Trying to figure out the puzzle of how to make a baby with limited resources and no guarantees feels like insanity. And the cyclical nature of all of it, of the waiting and the periods and the starting injections--- it often feels like you're chasing your tail and not really moving anywhere but in a circle. And then suddenly the whole dance becomes a moment in time. A chunk of life space on a time line that's a lot longer than initially imagined. Four plus years feels and sounds like a long time but now I can watch those years in 90 min. And I can go back to feeling the intensity of it all but that feeling is no longer my daily reality. Some things we have on film I barely remember. Or I watch and I see how negative or hostile I am and realize wow, I was really in a bad place. For a long time. But now that chapter is complete and I feel really proud of our film and can't wait to share it with others. I think it normalizes some of this stuff that feels far from normal.

But I think time is an important concept to think about, and I think it really helps to think about when you're in a rough time. I vividly remember my friend Lisa (who has two teenagers, on via adoption, one via egg donor and surrogate) telling me one day I won't even remember much of this. One day it will feel like forever ago. One day. It was hard to believe at the time. And I do remember a lot, but it's memory now rather than my present. And for that I'm grateful.

Momo is almost 15 months old. For that I'm even more grateful. And the newborn phase that feels so scary and intense and anxiety provoking is now memory too. It's been the fastest slowest year ever.

After the screening, a friend of mine, who is also in the film sharing her story, said something to me about how hard it must be to re-live our journey every time we watch it. But I don't feel that way at all, and I guess that too is a result of time and space and being able to construct your own narrative. When we can retell our story we can own it, sculpt it in a way that allows it to be integrated into our lives and selves, and share it how we want to share it. There's power in that.

June 06, 2016

A few months ago I was approached by the Director of Business Development for Frozen Egg Bank Network about a guest blog post. Now I don’t usually do guest posts because this little blog has just been my voice and I don’t like to endorse or sell anything other than whatever hope and support I can— and that’s not really for sale. But she wrote a post with some good info which came through to me on the same day as one of my best friends decided to freeze her eggs.

My friend— let’s call her YaYa— is 37 and change. She is an amazing gal with less than amazing luck with men. Until now. She just met a cowboy, literally, who has swept her off her feet and grounded her at the same time, and she’s pretty sure he’s the one. Thankfully the feeling appears to be mutual. But it’s early in the game, and she REALLY wants to be a mom one day but doesn’t want to jump into something too soon. Thus her decision to “harvest” as she says. I TOTALLY support this.

If I would have known…I hate to even go there but I do hope that we as a society can get to a very different place with fertility education and I hope that women can be given appropriate and helpful information about their fertility at a younger age when they can actually DO something about it…but if I would have known that my ovaries were going to turn to dust by my 30th birthday, I probably would have frozen my eggs in my twenties. Now, this is not a guarantee, it’s an insurance policy, but it is one that might save a lot of people some tough choices and heartbreak on the back end. For me, I still wonder if it would have worked, or if I would have wanted it to work because that would mean I might not have Momo, and I know that Momo was supposed to be my baby. So my personal feelings are conflicted, but I think it's a good option. Here’s the post from Noreen Butler, Director of Business Development for Frozen Egg Bank Network. She strives to educate women about the need to become aware of their fertility potential at a young age in order to help them take control of their biological clock.

Time vs. Fertility: Egg Freezing Is Your Hope for the Future

Do you feel like your biological clock is ticking away, but it’s not the best time for you to start a family? The ability to preserve your eggs at the peak of your fertility is now available and can extend your childbearing years and give you a sense of security for the future.

What is the Best Time for You? There are many reasons for delaying motherhood. By freezing your eggs now, you can start your family on a timeline that is best for you.

Looking for the Right Romantic Partner. The number one reason women freeze their eggs is because they are still single. Women who have not met their life partner may find it comforting to freeze their eggs in order to give themselves more time to find the person they truly want to have children with.

Facing Divorce. Women going through a divorce in their twenties or thirties may decide to freeze their eggs because they do not know how long it will take to find another partner.

Focusing on Career or Education Goals. Some women are not ready to start a family because they want to accomplish education or career goals before having children.

What If You Wait Too Long?

The challenge with waiting for the “right time” to start a family is that as you age, medical issues may arise that can impact fertility.

Diminished Ovarian Reserve. As you get older, the quantity of your eggs starts to decline, making it more difficult to get pregnant. You are most fertile in your twenties, followed by your early thirties. After 35, your fertility drops noticeably each year. By the time you reach 40, you will have less than a ten percent chance of a successful pregnancy with your own eggs, and by 45 that chance goes down to only one percent.

Reduced Egg Quality. There is a greater chance for chromosomal abnormalities with your eggs as you age, increasing the risk of miscarriage, birth defects, or other disorders that make conceiving difficult.

Early Onset Menopause. When menopause happens before 40, it is called early onset menopause. It can be caused by certain medical treatments, like a hysterectomy, or may happen on its own due to chromosome defects, genetics, or autoimmune diseases, such as thyroid disease or rheumatoid arthritis.

Cancer. Unfortunately, some women face a cancer diagnosis during their most fertile years. The chemotherapy and radiation can damage the ovaries and affect egg quality.

How Egg Freezing Works

To begin the process, you will start taking hormones that stimulate your ovaries to produce multiple eggs at once. During this time, which usually lasts five to 10 days, you will have regular ultrasounds to monitor egg growth. After about two weeks, the eggs are retrieved during a brief procedure. Then, they are taken to the lab and cooled to subzero temperatures so they can be stored safely for future use.

Once you have decided the time is right to move forward, the egg bank will ship your frozen eggs to the fertility clinic. You will then start taking medications including estrogen and progesterone to prepare the endometrial lining of your uterus to accept the embryos. After about four weeks, the frozen eggs will be thawed and fertilized with your partner’s or donor’s sperm to make embryos. The embryologist selects the most viable embryo(s), and then the doctor transfers them into your uterus. Within two weeks, you will know if it was a success.

No Time Like the Present

The sooner you freeze your eggs, the better chance you have for a successful pregnancy when you are ready for a family. If you have more questions concerning freezing your eggs, please consult your family physician or gynecologist.

June 02, 2016

I know a lot of different people at different places with their family building. I know people (many who we interviewed for our film) who have teenagers via adoption or surrogacy or egg donation or IVF, who look back and hardly remember the details of the struggle to find their family. And I also know people on the polar opposite end, those just starting to figure things out or those whose plans are currently falling apart and they're standing there going, "now what?" And then there is everyone in-between, right?

Last night I asked Noah what he thinks we would have done if Momo didn't work. I think about that sometimes as I meet more people who are getting to the end of their line of options. We were at the end and we got lucky. But what if we didn't?

Noah's answer was that one thing he has really learned from the whole experience is not to ask what if. He said "it is or it isn't and that's it." Yeah. But what if it wasn't, if she wasn't? He said he can't imagine it. I can't either. But if the first embryo donation round didn't work we planned on one more. But of that didn't work.... We would probably have pursued adoption. But we don't know. There's a constant shift in perspective that happens with all this. A constant redefining of the self and of expectations and of what's important.

I vividly remember the day I went to the ER when I was maybe three months P with Momo and I started profusely bleeding at work. I already had so many problems and bleeding and the pain I felt in the privates and the amount of gushing red blood made me feel like this was it. I walked to the ER with my very good friend (and some woman who worked at the front desk, which was super weird) and we were silent. I was praying to whoever would listen but I had an overwhelming feeling that if I was miscarrying this was it. I couldn't fathom having anything more in me to keep going. When we saw Momo dancing away with a strong heartbeat I was so relieved. I was also really emotionally exhausted. This kind of pursuit for a baby, this effort is totally exhausting, and while I told myself I would have been done, chances are I wouldn't have been. I would have found a way to put the pieces of myself back together and keep searching. But I'm so grateful every day that I didn't have to do that, yet again. And really feel for anyone in that process right now.

But I also wonder if maybe that would have been the end of the line for me? Maybe I would have spent my efforts rebuilding myself and redefining my life in a way I never imagined. I guess I'll never know. I also think that how we might feel one day, when it's all so raw, might be really different the next day, and that's the beauty of feelings. They change. And the beauty of plans. They change. And the beauty of life. It changes.